The Light Over London(76)

“I woke up in the middle of the night, horrified that I’d embarrassed you yesterday, darling. Sometimes I think Reggie is a

bad influence.”

“You’re blaming Reggie?” I asked.

He shoved his hand through his hair, mussing it up deliciously, even though he’d already combed it down with water once that morning. “He goads me, you know.”

I took a sip of tea, refusing to let him out of a full apology. After a few seconds, it came.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I worry so much about you,” he said, spreading his hands wide. “There’s nothing I can do to protect you when I’m on base or flying missions.”

“And there’s nothing I can do to protect you either, Paul,” I said, touching his cheek. “You aren’t the only one who worries.”

“I know that. Am I forgiven?”

I pulled away a little. “What about after the war, when we’re together again? I won’t be dictated to. I didn’t leave my mother’s home only to lose myself again.”

“I would never do that to you, darling. You must trust me.”

29 September 1941

Da has written back.

27 September 1941

My dearest Lou Lou,

I’m stunned but happy to hear your good news. I wish you every congratulation, although I must confess a little sadness too. I had hoped that one day I would be the man walking you down the aisle, but you’ve shown us all that you don’t need anyone leading you. You’ve become quite the independent young woman.

I’m sorry to say that your mother has not taken your news as well. I suspect it won’t be a surprise to you, but she’d hoped that you would forget Paul and be content to wait for Gary. However, don’t let this diminish your happiness. You have made your own choices, and I couldn’t be more proud.

With all my love (and Mum’s too),

Your father

15 October 1941

I’ve hardly had time to write a word here or, I’m sad to say, to Paul except for a scribbled note here or there. B Section has been run off our feet between lectures about new bombers, meteorology, and further fine-tuning of our technique, and our shifts. The skies have been unsettled with air raid sirens, but often the planes veer off, heading northward. But it’s no matter to us. We remain ever vigilant on our rooftop perch, the lights guiding us as we search for our enemy.

3 November 1941

Rumors abound that our battery may be sent north to Liverpool, Newcastle, or Glasgow. The Luftwaffe have been bombing those cities heavily, trying their best to dismantle whatever factories and depots they can.

Most of this kind of speculation around the canteen and the NAAFI never comes to pass, but this feels different. I shall write to Paul after I finish this and tell him. It’ll make it harder for us to see one another because the train journey will be even farther than London, but perhaps I can come to him. He dismissed the idea in his last letter, but that was nearly two weeks ago.

Two weeks! I might be hurt at his negligence except I’ve been so exhausted that many days I can’t see fit to raise my own pen. It’s been five days since I wrote him myself.

It’s no excuse. Not with what he means to me. I will have to do better.

7 November 1941

I wrote to Paul as I said I would, but I shouldn’t have bothered. I could’ve written his response back because it’s the same every time. It hardly bears transcribing.

He wants me to transfer out of Ack-Ack. It’s too dangerous. He doesn’t want me to be in Liverpool or Newcastle or Glasgow because they’re too far north and harder for him to get to when he’s on leave. If he ever manages to receive leave again.

Sometimes, when I’m at my angriest, I wonder if Reggie really did confuse the dates of his leave in Edinburgh or whether Paul has been gallivanting around, enjoying the idea of having me waiting for him without having to make the effort of coming to see me.

14 November 1941

No letter from Paul since I wrote to him on the seventh. We think Glasgow is our most likely next assignment because the shipyards have been battered with German bombs recently.

I won’t transfer.

5 January 1942

Everything is over. I thought I loved him.





20


LOUISE


“Rumor is more rationing’s coming,” said Mary as she flipped the pages of the abandoned newspaper she’d scooped up from the table in the NAAFI.

“What is it this time?” Charlie asked, laying down the jack of spades on the discard pile.

Louise watched Nigella pluck it up and lay down three jacks, discarding her last card facedown on the pile. “Gin.”

Charlie threw down her hand. “If I’d have known you’d develop into such a card shark, I never would’ve suggested starting this game.”

Louise shook her head, tallying up Nigella’s points and Charlie’s losses and adding it to the score that was already in the tens of thousands. “You could just admit that she’s better at this than any of us.”

“No. I’m about to go on a hot streak here any moment. Just you wait,” said Charlie.

“I don’t know why I keep winning,” said Nigella. “I swear I’ve never been particularly good.”

“What’s Nigella good at?” Cartruse asked, dropping into the chair next to Louise.